


Baby in a Basket

by redgoth



Series: The Increasingly Difficult Upbringing of Tord [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Anxiety, Baby Tord, Gen, Kinda, Pre-Relationship, trans pat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redgoth/pseuds/redgoth
Summary: Being 23 is hard enough without being told you're a father.





	Baby in a Basket

“So.” Paul says, short and precise. “You’re… you’re positive this kid isn’t yours?”

_ “Yes, _ I’m positive.” Patryk says, threading his hands through his hair.

Paul is sitting on the couch of Patryk’s tiny shithole of an apartment, a baby no older than a month or so sleeping soundly in his arms. Patryk paces around the room, a mess of nerves and frustration. He sees the look that passes Paul’s face and turns, crossing his arms.

“We’ve talked about the reason for it being actually  _ impossible _ for me to be his biological father before.” He says. Paul knits his brows together and Patryk groans. “Think about it. Take a fucking minute.”

Paul sits, stewing in his thoughts, eyes moving from his anxious friend to the baby in his arms. He raises his eyebrows, glancing back up. “Oh,” he says, “right. You’ve got that whole… you don’t have a dick.”

Were there not more pressing issues at hand, Patryk wouldn’t scoffed, corrected something about…  _ that, _ and then move on. But there’s a baby in his house, in his  _ care,  _ that, while not exactly his… it’s… he’s depending on him. 

Patryk pulls at his hair, runs his hands down his face. Inhale. Exhale. In, out, in, out, in, out,  _ in, out. _

“Yeah.” He says. “That whole thing.”

The lull in the conversation is deafening. 

“You could give him up for adoption, you know.” Paul says, and Patryk’s chest aches. “I mean, most parents have at least nine months to prepare. You’ve had… what, three hours?”

Patryk hesitates, glancing at the shitty thrift store clock on his wall. “It’s been an hour and a half.” He says.

“Christ.” Paul murmurs. “You really did just call me immediately.”

“You-” He starts, far too loud for a baby in the room. He drops his voice. “You gave me your number and said I should call you if I needed something!”

“Yeah, but I meant like, for class!” Paul smiles at him just barely, hidden under the usual layer of tired. “If you missed class, I could bring you a copy of the work, or lie to the professor for you, I didn’t think it would extend to your personal life crisis.”

Another hesitation, Patryk sheepishly rubbing his neck.

“You’re my only friend.” He mumbles. Paul grins a little wider.

“And you, me.”

Patryk huffs a laugh, soft and short. He takes a seat across from his classmate and so-called son. He sighs, hating the shakiness of his breath.

“I can’t.” He says. Paul cocks his head. Patryk brushes his hair from his face. “I can’t give him up for adoption.”

Paul looks down at the baby in his arms, fair skinned and soft. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, and Paul smiles, just briefly. “How… how are you going to classes?” He asks, and Patryk leans forward, rubbing is face with his hands.

“I don’t know.” He says.

“Can you afford to take care of him?”

_ “I don’t know.” _

There’s tears welling in his eyes and his hands are shaking as he stares determinedly at the floor. Paul reaches out with the hand not supporting the sleeping baby to squeeze Patryk’s knee, some botched attempt at grounding the man. 

“I can help out wherever you need me.” Paul promises. Patryk looks up, an absolute wrecked form of the man he had seen earlier that day in class. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his sleeved arm, sniffling a little. 

“Thank you.” He says. “That… means a lot.”

They sit together, watching the sleeping baby in silence, for a long, long moment.

Eventually, the two trade, Patryk taking the baby in his arms and Paul stands, stretching casually, disappearing out to Patryk’s tiny balcony for a smoke.

The balcony is small. Barely big enough for Paul and for the one fold out chair that resides there (and, judging by the dusty, sun bleached material, it has resided there for a while.)

It’s an awkward time for the both of them.

 

It’s only two weeks later that Paul and Patryk move in together, sharing their space. Patryk drops a few courses from his schedule, and Paul, already doing only the bare minimum for university, stays the same. It’s relatively easy to work out a plan with their professors, which Patryk is ecstatic about.

There are many nights the two fall asleep together on the couch, baby in one’s lap, a laptop in the other’s, as the TV plays quietly in front of them.

It’s not easy. Of course not, a baby has been thrust into their care, two kids only barely in their twenties, nothing is easy. But it’s easier than it could’ve been, Patryk thinks. He could be alone, struggling to make ends meet, barely getting by. 

As he spares a glance to Paul, he sees the man passed out in the shitty armchair Patryk had nabbed from a Goodwill. On his own chest, Tord murmurs, and Patryk hushes him gently, running his hand through his son’s soft brown hair.

_ Everything will be fine. _


End file.
